WHEN DREAMS CLASH

As I sit back trying to remember my good old days as a teacher in the quaint town of Shimla, the Queen of Hills, with its old world charm and easy going life, the face of Gurmeet Singh Cheema ,my chubby, red faced twelve year old student takes a special place. Chubby , because a loving ,doting grandmother insisted on her only grandson having a glass of creamy milk with every meal along with dabs of butter whenever possible, as she strongly felt that creamy milk and butter led one to the gateway of health, wealth, wisdom, success etc. He was also red faced through constant climbing up and down hills as was imperative in Shimla. Apart from this there was a melancholic turn to his lips and drooping eyebrows which had their own tales to tell

Young Gurmeet’s life and situation reminded me of a story which I had heard long ago from an old uncle----a story supposedly associated with the Ramayana. As the story goes, Lord Rama’s horoscope was taken for perusal by the palace astrologer. On considering the various relevant points, the positions occupied by the heavenly bodies etc., he declared that the horoscope was excellent, and that Rama would soon prove to be the favorite of all the stars who would see to it that he experiences a happy, peaceful, stress free life. But what Rama experienced in reality was just the reverse of what was predicted. The explanation to this, given later by the same astrologer ,(then an octogenarian) , was that Rama being the favorite ward of each star, each was possessive about him and his well being, and so thwarted the efforts of other stars. Thus even though they worked towards a common goal, ie ,Rama’s good fortune , their efforts were at cross purpose and clashed with each other And the Lord incarnate Himself had to pay the price.

But how does it relate to Gurmeet, you may ask. Half a sec---let me explain. Gurmeet was the only son of an extremely affectionate family. His mother Prabhjot Kaur , with whom I used to interact now and then , was a soft spoken , cultured lady who oozed sophistication and grace. She hailed from a well placed family in Patiala ( as she frequently mentioned) and lamented the ‘dearth of culture in the Pahadi region ‘ as she put it. Why, she even got her clothes stitched in Patiala as she found the tailors in Shimla too---well----ordinary. In one of her lighter moments she told me the story of her life.

Prabhjot was in her late teens, a student of Women's’ College ,Patiala, when she came on a college trip to Shimla. Gurinder Singh Cheema, the tall handsome Sikh was the owner of the huge Handicrafts Emporium on the main street. An out and out salesman and an expert in managerial skills, he handled customers with such charm and ease that they tended to forget their pockets while succumbing to the attractions of the Emporium. Prabhjot could not remain impervious to his charms and thus started a fiery long distance romance. But the issue had to come out in the open sooner or later. After a few grunts and sighs of disdain from either side, both the families agreed to the marriage.

Prabhjot , the new bride arrived in Shimla in style, was ushered grandly into the family and given a warm welcome by a widowed mother-in-law. With the arrival of Gurmeet a couple of years later and his little sister Pinky subsequently, the joys of the family doubled. But gradually Prabhjot started pining for her past- the family she had left behind in Patiala,a family which had members from every walk of life- engineers, doctors, teachers etc. Every day the dinner table would resound with discussions and arguments on almost every topic under the sun. But today, well, she had a loving husband of her choice, two sweet healthy children, an affectionate mother-in-law, money, a lavish, relaxed lifestyle. But along with it she experienced stagnation, monotony, as though there was nothing more to look forward to.

On one of her visits to school she told me,” You know Madam, my biggest dread is that my Gurmeet turns out to be like the children of the other shop owners here. You have some of them in your class.”

I got her point. The children she mentioned were the ones who spent their evenings helping in the shop, getting trained and gradually becoming experts at their trade. All the while, what they had at the back of their minds was that these lessons of History and Geography, Maths and English really didn’t matter. Their future was set- it was decided. They were to be the future owners of the shop.

“But I have a totally different dream for my Gurmeet.” Prabhjot continued, “I want him to realize the value of education, work hard and carve his own future.” Really commendable!

 The result was that she frequently started meeting each of the teachers of various subjects and requesting them to give extra homework for her son. At home too there was a tutor who ‘helped’ Gurmeet every evening.

But do you think the father Gurinder Cheema would give up in a hurry? He had his dreams too. The Handicrafts Emporium set up by his grandfather had expanded under his father. Now Gurinder had renovated it and it stood out bright and bold, amongst the other shops around. He was planning to expand his business by the time Gurmeet came of age. So Gurmeet spent a large part of the evenings at the shop under the tutelage of his father.

Thus Gurmeet daily routine was as follows. He got up early after a late might, had heavy breakfast provided by a loving grandmother, carried a heavy lunchbox prepared by a loving mother. He arrived in school with a heavy stomach and drowsy eyes. At school, he continued to complete his Maths extra homework during English period, History homework during Maths period and English homework during Hindi period, not being able to complete any of those and getting scolded by all the concerned teachers. At lunch he used to have half a paratha and leave the rest in the dustbin as he had to complete the homework given by the tutor. In the process, he hardly ever paid attention to the lecture in any class. Once home, he just had time to change and have a snack before getting into the custody of his tutor. Out of the tutor’s clutches, by seven, he had to reach his father’s shop and stay there for a couple hours. After dinner, he used to sit with a book----it did not matter which subject---because within moments he would be bent double over it half asleep.

As expected, his grades went down gradually and , on the last day of the session we , the teachers, had to confront a fuming Prabhjot.

“I have tried my best, given my full support to my son. Yet my son could not do well in this school. I think I shall have to take admission for him somewhere else.”

And that was the last we saw of the mother and the son.

Even today , whenever I hear of a mismatched marriage, of children who pay the price for lack of understanding between parents, I hope and pray that Gurmeet had the good fortune not to succumb to the confusions of his parents.